


Black and White

by missblister



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pianist, F/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5233187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missblister/pseuds/missblister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world painted with a mélange of colors, he only viewed it as black and white. Once he realized, the only color that could stand out was a splash of pink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and White

_With evening's coming the flower folds her petals_  
_And sleeps, embracing her longing._  
_At morning's approach she opens her lips to meet_  
_The sun's kiss. - Khalil Gibran_

~~_***_ ~~

 

The overhead lights dimmed. The group of people began to clap awkwardly as the pianist acknowledged them with a bow. His hands shook. Sweat rolled down his round cheeks.

“Akasuna Sasori! You have ten minutes until you’re on!” the coordinator called out, crossing the young man’s name off of his clipboard.

The redhead stood with his back against the wall, suit jacket draped over his shoulder.

Passing him, he heard the rueful cries of the young pianist that performed just before.

“Stupid, stupid! Missing an entire measure?! Stupid!” He smacked his hand to his forehead repeatedly, chanting his own self-deprecation.

Sasori inhaled slowly, treading to the bathroom. Hurriedly opening the closest stall’s door, he dropped to his knees, vomiting.

It had become just another part to his routine. A horrid, unhealthy addition, but it somehow kept his nerves from unraveling.

He washed his mouth out with his bottle of water, spitting into the sink. Settling back, he examined himself. His button-down shirt remained clear of water marks and food. Oxfords were polished, only to be worn for recitals, competitions, and other formal events.

Straightening his tie, he marched out, chin lifted higher than its usual position. Afterall, the audience loved confidence.

And he had to show it seeping through his pores.

Clenched hands. Grinding teeth. His stomach churned, his throat tightening.

He stepped off.

The echo of his footsteps rang out, casting their sound among the performance hall. Turning to his audience, he bowed, hearing their polite, welcoming applause reverberating irritably loud in his ears.

Adjusting the seat, his right foot leveled against the pedal. Finally, he was sitting at the piano he had known throughout his life. ‘Steinways and Sons’ etched into the uncovered fall, exposing the stripes of black and white.

Unfastening the last button of his suit jacket, Sasori breathed slowly, his hands hovering just over the ivory keys.

Members of the audience couldn’t contain their excitement.

“Akasuna Sasori-san has won so many events this year! I can’t wait to hear him play!”

“There’s another performance after his, but I think I’ll leave once he’s finished.”

“He’s the only pianist I came here for! It’s no wonder they put him as one of the final players!”

Stretching his hands, he closed his eyes. Once his callous fingertips grazed the piano, he began.

_Frédéric François Chopin… Waltz in D-flat major, Op. 64 No. 1 – otherwise known as the ‘Minute Waltz’._

He spent hours upon hours practicing, forcing his muscles to remember every movement and twitch of his fingers. Sasori had performed the song repeatedly, losing sight of the notes as he worked through the night. Many times, he awoke with his body hunched over the old piano in his grandmother's study.

He played through the piece meticulously, his anxiety dissolving as he eased into the music. Each digit pressed every key with such precision it may as well have been Chopin playing it himself.

Sasori had a knack for playing the score to its exact detail. Every tempo, every accidental, every count in the measure stood no chance of being changed. The composer created it that way, what would he gain from changing it? People loved the music exactly as it was and he had no right to dismantle its eternal markings.

That was the beauty of it. To keep it just as it was and maintain it through generations. Never would Sasori desecrate such a piece of art – to do so would be blasphemy.

His body moved through the music, wrists flicking as his fingers prodded along the piano's keyboard effortlessly. Molto vivace – one of Chopin’s ‘livelier’ works – something that would entertain the crowd.

Licking his lips, he faltered his motion, lengthening his marks as the score slowed to half-notes. The decrescendo lowered his volume, along with the ritardondo slowing him further.

Jolting his audience with the slam of the keys, Sasori energized the spectators, accelerating through the notes as though the piano were set aflame. The young man drove through the measures, increasing and growing in sound as he closed in on the final bar.

The tips of his fingers landed on the final notes, the hammering of his tone fading. Had it only been a minute?

Rising to his feet, he performed the routine task of giving out his attention to the people sitting before him. Dipping at his waist, applause rang out from their seats. Several of the men and women stood, granting him a ‘Bravo!’ or ‘Excellent performance!’

Sasori walked off stage, sweat drenching the nape of his neck. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

 _I would love to see the ‘closing act’ follow after_ that _._

~~~~

Undressing into his casual clothes, Sasori stole a seat at the posterior of the hall. His hands folded neatly in his lap, awaiting the final performance.

This wasn’t the Hamamatsu International Piano Competition, just a simple entertainment event for young pianists. Originally, he hadn’t bothered to perform, but his grandmother insisted, stating that it simply gave him something to do between stalling competition dates.

As the break ended, the lights dimmed once again. The clack of heels tapped against the wooden floor, a young woman appearing onstage.

 _Tch. Heels? Who are you trying to impress? Playing in those abominations will only hinder your pedal usage_ , he thought critically.

His hooded eyes traced over her, judging her entire future performance by her attire.

A silk, black dress hanging just over her knee hid any outline of her body. Just the pronunciation of her chest before the cloth tented out produced any thought that she may be rail-thin to him. Along with her dress, a darker shade of stockings shrouded her legs, an attempt to mask the defined muscles of her calves, but Sasori knew better. She even wore two strands of pearls – what a ridiculous decision.

_She must be an amateur. Surely someone with enough common sense would have chosen practical formal wear._

Bowing, the girl then sat upon the cushioned stool.

He nestled back. Ready to bask in the horrid piece she had chosen.

With the enriching sound reaching his ears, Sasori perked up, immediately recognizing the music before she reached the melody.

_Frédéric François Chopin… Waltz in C-sharp minor, Op. 64, No. 2… The companion piece to the ‘Minute Waltz’._

She was playing the second work of Chopin’s opus 64.

And she was playing it _tremendously well_.

He sat forward, wondering where this girl had appeared from. With such dramatically-pink hair, he had to have known her, but her name remained a mystery – the boy unable to find it in his memories.

Her knobby fingers darted to each note without fear or doubt, she played confidently. The entire audience sat before her, fully entranced by her music.

Sasori gifted her with his approval. She obviously knew what she was doing and to hear her play the companion piece so skillfully pleased him.

However, his serenity was short-lived as the young pianist quickly changed tempo, leaning against the piano with her broad shoulders widening. She dialed the keys swiftly, rising in volume. The young woman piled herself onto the music, granting its sound something entirely different than the original.

If Sasori hadn’t caught himself, he would have fallen from his seat.

How dare she! Someone as lowly attempting to recreate such a beautiful, melancholy piece to suit her own desires? What right did she have to disrupt its beauty through the trash she was exposing to their guests?

_Chopin must be turning in his grave._

After her pianissimo, she slowed her pace, falling back on the tempo and decreasing the richness of the piano’s tone. Her foot cranked against the pedal, filling the silence of the hall through the open rests of her notes.

She had abandoned the score long ago, playing as freely as though she had composed each note herself. The people watched in awe, unsure if they were listening to the same opus as they were so used to hearing.

Passion overfilled the melancholy waltz, lifting its heaviness to a light and airy countenance. To Sasori’s dismay, the smile ingrained onto her lips never faded throughout the composition. She had purposely done this.

He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Was she _mocking_ him?

Rising to double-fortissimo, and pounding onto the keys, she speedily ran through the measures upon measures of eighth notes. The articulation, dynamic, and overall expressiveness… everything. It may as well not even be Chopin.

By the end of her performance, Sasori could taste blood on his tongue. It was outrageous. It went against every ideal he held so dearly. As a musician, as a _person_ , he was left disgusted.

Taking her bow, the audience cheered loudly, startling him. He sat motionless, simply stunned that the same people that rooted for him would give her such positive support.

“That was amazing! I could really feel her in that!”

“Why haven’t I heard of her before? She’s so talented!”

“At first, I was a little unsure, but she completely threw me for a loop! What a beauty! She’s absolutely marvelous!”

Sasori couldn’t bear to hear more. They were all imbeciles – their minds lost and beyond saving. They had zero appreciation for Chopin and his work.

Grabbing his bag, he immediately exited the hall, ready to unleash his anger upon the keys of his piano at home.

_What a despicable girl!_

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to hear the two pieces, I personally, enjoy Luke Faulkner's performance of Op. 64 no. 2, but obviously Sakura played it much 'brighter' than he does.
> 
> For the 'Minute Waltz', I suggest listening to Valentina Lisitsa -- although Sasori plays it under a minute due to his intention of entertaining the crowd.
> 
> I've been debating whether to continue this as a multi-chapter fic, but I'm still unsure. Regardless, I'll post it here nonetheless.
> 
> (I've also placed it as 'Teen and Up' just in case I do continue writing for it and there will probably be mild cursing?)


End file.
